onions sparingly, to make them last. But by afternoon the
onions had given him a sharp, retching cramp. After the
pain had worn off, he slept some, lying on the pile of dead
leaves in the thicket by the ditch. When he woke up the last
time, it was dark. That night he managed to reach the Camp-
He was afraid to approach the house, but he lay in the
barn, dozing fitfully. In the middle of the morning, he
managed to attract Mr. Campbell's attention. He stayed in
the barn for three days. Mr. Campbell smuggled food out to
him, and after dark the first night a blanket and a pillow. " I
don't mind having you," Mr. Campbell said that night,
squatting in the loft, in the dark, while Mr. Munn lay
stretched out on the blanket. " It's not that I mind. It's just
that this section right round here ain't too safe. Soldiers on
the road out by my place not more'n two days ago."
Mr. Munn scarcely heard, sinking again into a sweet daze
of weariness. " Uh-huh," he replied. Mr. Campbell's words
flowed away from him. He knew that they would have mean-
ing for him later. But not now.
" Now a little north of here, it's safer. Things been right
quiet up there. And there's a feller up there thinks a world
of Doctor MacDonald. The doc stayed up there with him
off and on, fishing and hunting. I went up once with the doc,
just once, not being much of a hand to be hunting and fish-
ing, and spent a night and a day up there in this feller's place.
Feller name of Proudfit, a quiet-spoken feller. You heard the
doc speak about him?"
" Yes," Mr. Munn responded, letting Mr. Campbell's words
slide and break and re-form meaninglessly in his mind like
quicksilver, *' I reckon so."
"Well, 111 go see him. I'll go tomorrow and fix it up.
This Proudfit feller, he'll do anything for the doc, and after
all you've done for the doc/'
"I haven't done anything for him," Mr. Munn said.
"Well"—and Mr. Campbell hesitated—"I don't know
what you'd call anything, then."